


Tasting

by Minikitkatgirl



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Shameless Smut, Slight Femdom, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minikitkatgirl/pseuds/Minikitkatgirl
Summary: Sherlock kept thinking about her hair. Takes place in 7x05, "Into The Woods."





	Tasting

**Title:** Tasting  
**Author:** Me  
**Rating:** R/NC-17  
**Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson  
**Warning:** Sexual content, language  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing here. All characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rob Doherty (who should give us a break and just let them fuck already).  
**Summary:** Takes places in 7x05 “Into the Woods.”   
**_Author’s Note_ : **My first Joanlock fic done, finally! Shout-out and thank you to [@nairobiwonders](https://tmblr.co/mdy3XscBH6nY6yusZiqrbmg) for your inspiring and wonderful Joanlock drabbles.

\----

Sherlock kept thinking about her hair.

The sun’s unwelcome beams peeked in and woke him first that morning, an event he relished for allowing him the opportunity to watch her in the light.

Her hair--blonde, bright, something to which he was still growing accustomed--looked even more golden in the sun.

He laid beside her for a few blissful moments, one arm propped against his head as he sat up, the sheets sliding midway down his naked torso. Carefully, quietly, he slipped out of bed, drawing the curtains closed, a stark contrast to when he’d thrown those same curtains wide open years earlier.

Joan and Sherlock had been sharing a bed for a long while now, bodies pressed inevitably together. Sometimes they had sex, and sometimes they didn’t, sleeping side by side simply for the need to be close. He was not tired, but sated, having spent the night prior nestled comfortably in the indent the mattress had long ago made for his body.

He would wake her later, he decided. Only when it became necessary.

\----

The image of her bathed in sunlight lingered in his mind as they were getting ready for the wine auction that night.

When Joan asked him the question, it throbbed.

Sherlock stood in the middle of his bedroom fiddling with his bow tie, irritated by how impossible the damned things were to put on. Familiar footsteps approached and he turned to see her in the doorway, a vision in red.

“Ah, Watson. You look...”  
  
_Radiant. Stunning. Luminous. Incandescently beautiful such that the goddess Aphrodite herself would cower in awe._

None of it seemed to do her justice _._ Sherlock frowned at his brain’s inability in that moment to simply describe the woman in front of him, something he’d done countless times before.

“... suitably attired for this evening’s activities.”

Joan smiled, watching him struggle with the bow tie. She chalked his fumbling up to being distracted before realizing he actually couldn’t tie the stupid thing.

Concern came over her features and she moved toward him to help, reaching for his fingers. Sherlock backed away, quickly completing the last knot and gesturing at himself with a flourish.

“Your assistance is not required. I am, in fact, capable of dressing myself, as you can plainly see.”

Joan rolled her eyes then let her focus rest on him, her gaze slowly traveling downward to drink the sight of him in. They didn’t often have occasion to dress up, and despite Sherlock’s petulance and protestation, he looked exceptionally good in a tuxedo, all clean lines and tailored fit.

He started to leave but Joan stopped him, a hand pressed against his chest.

“Sherlock, wait.”

“...Yes?”

The scent of her so close to him was dizzying, arms and lips and skin all exposed and ready to be caressed, kissed, bitten. He wondered if Marcus would be terribly cross if they were late to the auction, which could no doubt be chalked up to last-minute deductions related to the killer and/or him feeding Watson actual truffles post-coitus.

He noticed Joan’s hand, which was clutching a small object. Despite the room’s dimness, the metal glinted, winking at him.

She’d taken the cock ring from the third drawer of the tallboy in the living room earlier that day. It sat on her night table as she got dressed, blood quickening as memories of past use came to mind, and at the thought of making him put it on that night.

Joan opened her palm, her free hand threading into his hair and pulling lightly. His body twitched automatically in response, his lips parting in a quiet hiss, and heat thrummed in the pit of her stomach.

She looked up at him.

“Wear it under your tux?”

Sherlock swallowed hard. He saw the sparkle in her eye and knew it was to be one of _those_ nights. They hadn’t had one for a while, but just the thought of submitting to her while trying to catch a killer, of being at her absolute mercy all evening--with no one else the wiser--was enough to raise gooseflesh.

He took hold of the ring, observing how she licked her lips in anticipation, a small shiver working its way up his spine. He began to unfasten his trousers but noted her presence and paused, one eyebrow arching impossibly high.

He kissed her long enough to gently edge her into the hall, lifting the hem of her skirt with one hand so as not to drag it along the floor. 

“A little privacy, Watson, if you please. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Joan smirked, watching the brief flash of his ass in the tuxedo pants as he turned and closed the door behind him.

\-----

They had been at the wine auction for ten minutes when Sherlock decided that Jason Wood and his wife were two of the most insipid people he’d ever met.

Five minutes after that, seated at the table, Joan slid her foot up his leg.

It was only a toe, at first; tentative, probing, a touch so gentle Sherlock was sure Wood had inadvertently begun playing footsie with him instead of his wife. Greater pressure followed a few moments later, what was assuredly a small yet strong set of metatarsals inching their way beneath the hem of his trousers.

Joan briefly feigned interest in the dull table conversation, glancing around the room for any hint of their killer and his fatal flagon of fermented grapes. Detecting no signs of his presence, she took a sip of water, breath hitching only slightly in her throat when she saw Sherlock eyeing her through the glass.

_Watson, I hardly think this is the appropriate time..._

The corner of her mouth edged up in a slight smile. It quickly disappeared as she turned to address Wood, who was muttering nervously about risk and exposure.

“That's exactly why we're here. To get the guy who wants you dead off the street. Minimize your risk.”

She withdrew her foot from Sherlock’s trousers, silently replacing it with a hand on his knee, fingers sliding upward slightly for leverage. Wood asked another question and Sherlock started to answer, gamely ignoring the warmth of Joan’s hand. He tensed as she pointedly stroked a thumb across his leg, pangs of arousal spider-webbing from his stomach downward. He vainly attempted to free himself from her hold, shifting his leg beneath her hand almost imperceptibly.

“...It suggests the appeal of this little scheme is anonymity.”

Joan twitched at that last sentence. She renewed her grip on him, roughly pulling his leg to the side, and silently sank her nails into his thigh.

_Blonde. Sun. Breath. Heat._

Flashes of her raced through Sherlock’s mind, memories of the night before blending into that morning, straight to right then. The un-drunk wine in the glasses in front of them pulsed, red as the blood he nearly drew from biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

Fifty-seven was the precise number of seconds he waited to stand up. Sherlock’s eyes darted between the Woods and the back of the room, the index and middle fingers of his right hand rubbing together unconsciously. He opened and closed his mouth, then finally spoke.

"I believe there might be some activity in the hallway which merits investigation. We should inform Detective Bell immediately. Watson?”

_That was subtle..._

Joan rose and nodded politely, placing her napkin on the table.

“Mr. Wood, Mrs. Wood. Excuse us, please,” she said.

Neither of them spoke as they walked toward the hallway, the edge of her pinky lightly twining with his when they were sufficiently far from the table. He was already half hard, the ring he’d put on for her surrounding the base of his cock with glorious constriction.

By the time Joan pulled him into the restroom, it ached.

Sherlock hardly had time to perform a haphazard check of the stalls before she slammed him against the inside of the door, the shapes of their bodies conforming effortlessly as they had in her bed. She studied him for a moment, grey eyes glassy and cheeks just slightly flush with arousal. His whole body was straining toward her, seeking more contact, yet he held his arms at his sides, waiting.

_Good._

Joan kissed him, the softness of her lips starkly contrasting with the roughness she’d shown moments earlier, arms wrapping around the back of his head as the kiss deepened. She licked at Sherlock’s lips, savoring their warmth, and he opened his mouth, groaning as she repeated the motion on his tongue. He rocked his hips up against her, the evidence of his arousal heightening her own through the layers of clothing.

Despite neither of them having had a drop of wine all evening, Sherlock felt drunk from the taste of her.

“My god...” he gasped, breaking the kiss long enough to draw in air.

Joan’s hands were everywhere, one notably taking up residence on his dick. She raised her mouth to his ear and whispered, squeezing him hard:

“ _Mine_.”

“Yes. Always.” The words came out as a half-choked whimper, the tips of his fingers tightening in her hair as she alternated kissing and biting down his throat, leaving bruises that were sure to raise questions he didn’t give a toss about answering.

She led him into a nearby cubicle, shutting and locking the door behind them. They looked at each other for a few seconds, the air between them heavy, Sherlock waiting for a sign of certainty from her.

_Now?_

Joan took hold of his hand, lightly sucking on his fingertips. She pressed them to the side of her face, then slowly guided his hand over her body, down the front of her dress.

_Yes. Now._

“Get on your knees.”

He did so without hesitation, wincing but momentarily for the hardness of the tiled floor. The hand that was still on her dress slid beneath the hem, pushing her skirt up until she helpfully bunched the front against her stomach, holding it for him.

Sherlock lavished attention on every newly bared plane of flesh--ankle, calf, knee--all so deliciously smooth under his lips, sliding deftly over her skin. He moved farther up, the black garter on her upper thigh giving him pause, mainly due to the condom packet tucked inside. He looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.

“Came prepared, did we?” he breathed, curling his tongue over her inner thigh.

“I like to have all my bases covered.”

The heat of her center so close by was driving him mad, but still he couldn’t resist teasing her by sealing his mouth over the front of her panties. He held still, inhaling the smell of Joan’s arousal as he felt her wetness growing under him. He breathed steadily onto her, enjoying the involuntary shudder of her muscles in response.

“One might argue that you could have conserved considerable time and energy simply by electing not to wear these tonight...”

He slowly flicked his tongue over the fabric covering her slit, one thumb tentatively hooking into her waistband.

Joan let out a low moan.

“Oh _fuck_ , Sherlock...”

His erection throbbed in his trousers, desperate for attention, but he ignored it, instead focusing his concentration entirely on doing whatever was necessary to make her say his name that way again.

He pushed her panties down her legs, stopping partway to remove his hands and use his teeth to drag them to her feet. Joan stepped out of the garment, pressing herself against the stall door while Sherlock deftly tucked her underwear into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He lifted her leg onto his shoulder, placed his mouth on her folds, and began to go down on her in earnest.

A combination of tongue, lips, and teeth had Joan panting in no time, her hand snaking into his hair, holding on tight. She ground her hips against him, biting back a scream as he slid one, then two fingers into her, curling them against her walls as his lips found her clit and closed over the swollen bud.

“Oh, god...faster...” Joan directed him, her knees weakening when he immediately complied, ribbons of pleasure flowing from her toes to the rest of her body.

Her orgasm followed swiftly, his name falling from her mouth in a heated groan, her head thrown back against the stall door and legs shaking, the stubble on Sherlock’s cheek brushing like electricity against her thighs. She bucked her hips against him, her internal muscles clenching around his fingers as she rode out the waves of her climax.

Joan reached for his arms, pulling him to stand up. Sherlock looked at her from beneath long eyelashes, his lips and jaw slick with her and red as the fabric she was now hiking up to reach the condom packet underneath.

“Can I...”

He’d unzipped himself before she had even noticed, his erection leaning thick and hard against his stomach, the tip already wet with precum. The ring had done its job well, and Joan burned with the need to have him inside her.

“Can I have permission to take it off?”

Her eyes drifted to the base of his cock, admiring the juxtaposition of metal and flesh, which somehow became even filthier against the backdrop of his tuxedo.

“Not yet.”

She circled an arm around his waist and pulled him close, kissing him softly and tasting herself on his lips. Joan felt his breath quicken as she rolled the condom on and stroked him for a few moments, the touch of her hand alone eliciting strangled whimpers from the back of his throat.

Sherlock half-smiled at her, one hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, twisting the golden ends in his fingers. 

“You’ve been meticulously planning this all day.”

“Ever since you left me alone in bed this morning.”

He would’ve looked surprised had she not chosen then to play with his balls, his eyes fluttering shut as she roughly squeezed, the pressure making his toes curl.

“I...I didn’t want to wake you,” he tried not to moan and failed, wondering if she intended to torture him like this forever, and if he would really mind.

Joan urged his hands down to her hips as she lifted her legs to wrap around him.

“I can feel you even when you’re not there.”

She’d slept in the same bed in the brownstone for years now _,_ blanketed in Egyptian cotton and the scent of her skin. Her bed, which somewhere along the way had become their bed, scents commingling, every inch of him joined with her so completely that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

She sank down on his cock, both of them panting as he filled her completely.

“ _Sherlock_...”

Joan’s fingers were digging into his shoulders, back arching at the sensation of being penetrated and the sheer perfection of how he was using every ounce of energy to control himself.

“Watson...do please move. I beg of you....”

 _And how beautiful you sound when you beg_ , she thought, lifting herself up before slamming back down on him again.

Sherlock buried his head in her shoulder, muffled groans pouring out as she rode him at a steady pace, his hips gradually coming to meet each of her movements. His thrusts grew more frantic and Joan tightened around him, thrilling at the sound of his balls slapping against her as he began to lose himself.

She shifted slightly against the stall door, whining as the angle changed and his cock started hitting that spot inside her, again and again. She brought a hand down between them to rub her clit and was rendered momentarily breathless at the sight of where their bodies met, him so far inside her that the metal just kissed her skin.

“ _Joan_...” his voice was ragged. He’d used her first name, and she knew it meant he was close.

She pressed a hand to his chest, slowing them both down, and he lifted his head up to look at her, his eyes clouded with lust. She pulled away from him, hissing as the head of his cock slowly slid out of her, standing back on the floor on unsteady legs.

“You can’t be serious...” 

Joan pressed a finger to his lips, her other hand reaching down to remove the condom and the cock ring, and Sherlock nearly sobbed with relief. She kept her eyes on him as she reached back to unzip the dress, sliding it down her arms and letting the fabric pool at her feet. Her bra followed suit and she stood naked before him, heart pounding at the reverent look in Sherlock’s eye.

“Let me touch you, Sherlock.”

He did as he was told, pressing his body against her, skin humming with need and very certain that he would die if she didn’t let him come soon.

Joan reached down to grasp his erection and a few pulls of her hand later, he could no longer hold on, the taste and feel and thought of her exploding behind his eyes as he came. Her name spilled from his lips like a chant as his seed spilled all over her, white hot droplets landing on her breasts and stomach, just as she’d wanted.

She looked up at him through darkened eyes, one hand stroking the side of his face, her insides twitching as he briefly sucked her thumb between his lips. 

“It looks like you made quite a mess. Clean it up.”

Sherlock blinked as if he’d suddenly remembered that they were in a bathroom, turning toward the toilet paper dispenser. Joan grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“I said, _clean it up_.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath, now fully aware of her meaning, and bent his head. She shivered the moment his long tongue slid across her skin, her fingers tangling in his hair as he licked his own cum from her breasts. He took her nipples into his mouth, biting and sucking each to a taut nub until she was writhing against him.

“Stop. It’s--too sensitive...” Joan panted, feeling the waves of a second orgasm rippling through her. He smiled against her skin, trailing kisses up her neck until he reached her lips again. He held his mouth inches from hers and chuckled softly when she impatiently dove in for a kiss, reveling in the taste of him in her mouth.

They broke apart a moment later and he held her, pressing her head to his chest until both their breathing slowed to normal. Sherlock stroked a hand down her back, enjoying the smooth sheen of sweat on her skin. He reached for her discarded bra and dress with the other, the unfortunate reality of where they were settling back in as they both made themselves decent.

“Zip me up?” Joan asked, turning around and pulling her hair to one side.

“Mmh...” he dragged his lips up her back as he closed the zipper, leaving one final open-mouthed kiss on her neck.

She pulled him out of the stall behind her but stopped before they could leave.

Joan faced Sherlock again, a sudden flush coming over her, rumbling from deep in her belly to a half-dazed grin she couldn’t keep off her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand once more before pushing the bathroom door open to face the world with him.

THE END.


End file.
